Your Hand In Mine
by CaptainAmorganca
Summary: John dreams. John screams. Sherlock's there. He looks as if he cares. Post-Reichenbach, I hope to continue this story line :3 Johnlock, don't like don't read.
1. Chapter 1

I can't get away from him, not even in sleep. The dreams I had- the nightmares- were normal. I'd had them since I had gotten back from the war, but lately these ones seemed worse. Probably because of THE EVENT. The one we don't talk about. The one I can't forget about because I haven't been able to leave this godforsaken flat where literally everything in it reminds me of him. Almost all the time, the nightmares are about him. About Sherlock. I see him falling, and I run towards him. Unlike what actually happened, I can run fast enough to catch him, to cushion his fall, to do SOMETHING. I catch him... but he's already dead. Every night, I see his blood-stained face and his bruised, pale white skin. And every single fucking night, I wake up sobbing, shaking, and crying out his name. Tonight was no different, I had the same dream and woke in the same condition. "SHERLOCK!" I screamed, trying not to hyperventilate. And from the corner of the room, I see HIM. That bastard, that wonderful, brilliant little bugger. He's sitting in the chair he sat in whenever he would come in my room, which was quite a lot towards the end. He got up, his normally stoic face sporting a worried, almost anguished look. He hurried to my bedside, touched my hand, and whispered, "Don't worry John. It was all a magic trick. I'm here, see? You don't have to do this anymore."  
"Sherlock..." I couldn't believe it. I was hallucinating, the grief had finally gotten to me. I was going mad. I gripped his fingers, felt his smooth skin under my rough, calloused hands. So I wasn't hallucinating.. that meant...  
"Yeah?"  
"YOU... FUCKING... DICK! WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? WHY DIDN'T YOU CALL? AND HOW ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH DID YOU FAKE YOUR MOTHER FUCKING DEATH?!" I was mad. I wanted to wring his porcelain-like neck. I wanted to break every bone in his body. I wanted to shoot him in the face. I pulled my hand away, placed it on his shoulder, and pulled him into a tight hug. "Never... never do that again. Do you know how bad things got for me when you left? Oh God, I'm so glad you're okay."  
"John..." he hesitantly placed his arms around me and buried his head in my neck. "I missed you too." 


	2. Chapter 2

Suddenly realizing what I was doing, I pulled away from him, feeling my face get hot. I put my hand back down on his, squeezed tightly, and said "Don't explain it to me. I don't want to know just yet. Get some rest, you probably haven't slept in a while." He chuckled lowly and said "Sleep is for the weak..." slowly, his eyes drooped, and he fell forward on the bed with a soft thunk. Surprised, I poked him; I had never seen him so exhausted. "When was the last time you slept?" I muttered, slightly miffed that even though he was alive, he didn't bother to take care of himself. He probably hadn't eaten much either... sighing, I flipped him over and somehow managed to get him lying down properly on my bed. I brushed a lock of hair away from his forhead and whispered "Goodnight, Sherlock. You'd better be here in the morning, you twat." I went to his chair in the corner that smelled of him- old books and cloves- and fell asleep.

Sunlight streamed into the room. I woke with a start (no nightmares... hmm...) and immediately looked over at the bed. Sherlock was still sleeping peacefully, a look of tranquility on his face. I felt my face lift into a small smile. I walked into the kitchen and began to prepare breakfast; for him, black coffee with two sugars and a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and two pancakes, and a cup of tea for me. My stomach was jumpy for some reason, I didn't feel like eating. I put it all on a tray and prepared to take it in my room when I heard a gruff "Morning," coming from the doorway. I jumped and my stomach fluttered as the velvety, raw voice exclaimed "You know I'm not going to eat that!" rather petulantly. "You will and you won't complain. If you haven't slept in God knows how long, I'm positive you haven't eaten either. Even if you have, you need some meat on your bones anyway." I stuck my tongue out at him, set the tray down on the table, and put my hand on his arm as I moved past him to get his coffee. He looked at me oddly for a second, then hesitantly sat down. When I handed him his coffee, our hands brushed, and I left mine touching his a little longer than I should have. I cursed myself. Was I flirting? With SHERLOCK? I wasn't gay, I knew that, but why did it feel like I was flirting? The things I was doing were all unconscious, I only realized I was doing it after the fact. Why did my heart beat faster when I heard his voice? That kind of stuff was easily noticed by him, which was probably why he gave me that look. Oh God, did I have FEELINGS for him? He cleared his throat.  
"These are good," he pointed out, indicating the eggs. I was surprised he actually listened to me... I sat down next to him at the table. "That's good. I can make more if you want any."  
"No thanks, I don't wish to trouble you." He was being strangely formal, not insulting, not deducing, not doing much of anything except switching between staring intently at his food and staring intently at me. "It's no trouble... Okay, why in the hell are you staring at me like that! What have I done this time? Do I have something on my face?"  
"Yes... you have a rat on your face," he said dryly, pointing to the mustache I was currently sporting. That sarcastic little shit... seems like he was back to normal.  
"No really. What did I do?"  
"... You're still upset. I'm here, so that's a load lifted off your shoulders, so what's bothering you? I know you quit your job after my 'death', so it's not a work problem... did one of your girlfriends break up with you?" I laughed bitterly. There hadn't been a girl since the fall. Yep, the Sherlock I knew was definitely back; he was being an insufferable know-it-all.  
"No, no girlfriends since you disappeared on me. I'm not upset about anything, don't worry about it." "Alright, whatever you say." He silently finished his food and stood up to put away his dishes. I stood up at the same time and he came close to me. "John. I know something is wrong. I will find it out eventually, and I promise to help you as best as I can." I felt my face redden as his eyes, like the ocean after a storm, stared into mine. He was oh so close... I felt an overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss his lush, full lips. I cleared my throat, startled at the thoughts in my head. "Well good luck with that, Sherlock. I'm going to run to the store, you do... whatever it is you do when I'm gone." "All right. Pick me up some peroxide, will you? I need to look into something." He leaned in closer to me, placed his lips on my temple, and took my hand. "Be safe, okay?" he muttered with his eyes closed. I jumped back, feeling my heart skip a beat.  
"Yeah okay. I'll pick up what you need." I practically ran out of the flat. Why was he acting so weird, being all emotional and touchy? Sherlock was never like that... I touched the place where his lips had been, feeling my face lift into that same small smile I had that morning. "Bugger. I'M NOT GAY!" I yelled at the empty street. I heard a chuckle coming from an open window. "You keep telling yourself that, mate." 


	3. Chapter 3

I came home, still absorbed in my thoughts. Cautiously, I looked around for Sherlock. The last thing I needed was him seeing in my eyes what I was thinking. I took a deep breath and proceeded forward. "Hello, John."  
"Jesus Christ, I didn't see you there! You scared the shit out of me!"  
"I can tell. Now based on your facial expression and hopeless, sort of confused look in your eyes, I can tell that you want to talk to me."  
"Why do you always... fine. I have something I need to ask. Why are you acting so weird?"  
"Weird how? John, we talked about this before! You have to be more specific in your wording!" I sighed frustratedly.  
"... You're showing emotion. You've always shown small inklings of it, but you're actually expressing it now and I don't understand why! You're inciting physical contact, you're saying things like 'I miss you' which is something the old Sherlock never would've bothered with saying, and you look like you either want to cry or yell or scream or all of them. You've changed Sherlock, I don't know how to act around you anymore! It's only been one day since you've been back and I already want to rip your-" His hand shot out to cover my mouth. "Mmph..! WUTRYUDOIN!" "Just shut up for two seconds. You're giving me a migraine. I'm acting like this simply because I feel like you need it right now; I put you through a great deal. I don't mind acting like this, I've wanted to be more affectionate for a long time around you because I think I might be thinking of you in a way that could be more than flatmates or friends. That's why I look like I'm sad, it's because I know you'll never admit to yourself that you have feelings for me. I can see them in you, you're not very good at hiding them." My heart started beating fast. He was saying everything in a factual, almost deadpan type of tone. It was driving me crazy. "You're caring, you're kind, and you can put up with me when no one else can. You're also quite attractive, despite the squirrel on your upper lip. But I don't deserve you. You deserve to be with someone who won't leave you behind, who won't be too caught up in work to pay you much attention, and who's definitely not as insane as I am. You're special, John, and you're important to me, but I don't want anything as trivial as feelings to get in the way of our relationship. If my affection is causing you to be uncomfortable, I can stop-" This time my hand came up to cover his mouth. Surprised, he dropped his.  
"You're an idiot..." My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. 'Fuck. I do have feelings for him,' I thought. I drew my hand away, looked him straight in the eye, and leaned in and kissed him. I made my lips soft, inviting, and warm; his lips tasted of black coffee and slightly of blood, as if he'd been chewing on them. They were chapped, but not in a gross way. I began to move mine against his, and after the initial shock, he began to respond. There was no tongue, just lips and every once and a while a bit lip. My hand came up to rest on the nape of his neck and the other one grabbed his hand. He placed his free one on the small of my back and pulled us together until our bodies were flush. He made a small noise of contentment in the back of his throat. I pulled back, kissed him on the place where his ear met his neck, and looked back into his eyes. "Even if you don't deserve me, I sure as hell want you." He smiled.  
"I want you too... but you have to shave that roadkill on your face. I'm sorry, but it was quite itchy at the beginning."  
"... Fuck you."  
"You wish." 


End file.
